


Hell in a Box

by davesilky



Category: Jumanji (1995)
Genre: AU as Hell, Angst for days, Future Fic, Multi, OC, evil board game returns yo, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:19:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davesilky/pseuds/davesilky
Summary: Post-Jumanji. Billy Jessup once tormented Alan Parrish. Then, the rich boy went and turned the tables on him. Now, Billy's the one being tormented, and it seems like things can't get much worse - until he finds a board game, bound in chains and weighed down with bricks, in the Brantford River.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I must say: thanks to the biggest plot bunny of the century, we have this gem. I always wondered what happened in the years between when Alan and Sarah threw the game in the river and when it wound up on a beach in France. I HIGHLY doubt that it immediately washed out to sea (friendly reminder that it was covered in chains and shit at one point), so my guess is that someone else found it and unleashed all holy jungle hell. Again.
> 
> Besides being interested in writing about that second round of Jumanji madness, though, I was also interested in writing from a different perspective. Billy, the bully from the beginning of the movie, always kind of fascinated me for some reason (seven-year-old me argues that I used to have a crush on him, but I'm citing other reasons), and I thought it would interesting to throw him into that situation of having opened Pandora's board game and having to put things back in order. Oh, with bonus teen angst and family issues and anything else that could throw a wrench in the whole process. Honestly, I should've majored in psychology, because I seem to really enjoy fucking with my characters and psychoanalyzing the crap out of them. ;) 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy it. I've spent the last several years fine-tuning this puppy and - hopefully - it's a lot better than the original story I started when I was a sophomore in high school. Cheers!

The mid-autumn maple leaves crunched softly, pleasantly under Billy Jessup's feet as he walked down the tree-lined pathway, a peaceful, rather happy sound. Unlike the leaves and the crunches though, Billy was anything but peaceful, and anything but happy.

No – Billy was pissed. Like, steam shooting out of his ears, two seconds away from screaming, ready to punch someone's lights out pissed. REALLY angry.

And it was all Alan Parrish's fault. God, he REALLY wanted to punch his lights out. Billy actually had half a mind to turn around and go back and do just that to the little bastard. He didn't care if he was a Parrish. Hell, it was all the more reason for Billy to deck him. _Stupid rich snot, thinkin' he owns everything in this fuckin' town…_

He veered right sharply, nearly colliding with a slouched, middle-aged man; Billy, without even bothering to apologize, continued his stomp down the path. He didn't care if that old man cussed him out until he was blue in the face, or what-the-hell-ever. He just didn't care.

Billy _did_ , however, care about seeing the Parrish kid hanging out with Sarah Whittle – HIS girlfriend.

No, wait. That wasn't right. Sarah wasn't Billy's girlfriend – well, not anymore. Nope, she was his ex-girlfriend now. She had been for four years.

Four years. Four years since they'd split, and Billy still bristled at the thought of Sarah being around somebody that wasn't him. Four years since they'd split, and Billy still couldn't believe that Sarah was now playing sweetheart to the Parrish kid, calling herself Alan's girlfriend. And she always looked so fucking happy saying it. She looked happy just being around that twerp. Every time Billy saw her, she was happy – they were happy. Happy, happy, happy. So goddamn happy.

It was the reason why Billy was walking down the path right now, the reason that his hands were balling into fists and he was glaring at the world like he wanted to kill something. He'd seen that happiness, and he'd seen it in full swing. He'd seen the grinning, the hand-holding, the baby faces and the googly eyes – and the barely-masked smirk the Parrish kid had leveled at him, an eat-shit "Ha ha, I win, screw you" look of glee and triumph that made Billy's blood boil.

He turned another corner, jaw clenched as the memory of that look floated tauntingly about in his head. What had happened? Four years ago Billy was putting the Parrish kid through absolute HELL, and he wasn't doing anything to stop him. Then, a week went by, and out of nowhere the kid grew a pair and pretty much told Billy to piss off and leave him alone.

A WEEK. Billy had been ruining Alan Parrish's life for years, dating Sarah for years. He didn't know what it was, but something happened and suddenly the little shit had swiped his girl and done in seven days what he'd done to him in thousands.

Even now, at 17 years old, Billy was still bitter about it. He could hold a grudge with an iron grip. Sarah used to tell him that all the time when they were dating.

Sarah. Billy snorted. If only she knew how long he'd been holding a grudge on her. She'd really see that iron grip then.

Another corner, and suddenly Billy was walking along downtown Brantford's Center Street. He stopped where he was for a moment, shut his eyes, and breathed deeply. When he opened his eyes again, he looked around at the various brick buildings and trees lining both sides of the street. This was HIS hunting ground, HIS territory. Alan Parrish might've staked claims on everything else, but he didn't dare try to stick his rich snout in the downtown area. As stupid as the little shit was, he wasn't so stupid as to try to call dibs on downtown. He was wise enough to know that Billy would flatten him if he even tried to take it from him. _Smart kid_ , Billy thought with a smirk. _You can keep the hell outta here_.

Mood slightly improved now, Billy started a slow, lazy amble up the street, arctic blue eyes jumping from shop front to shop front. He could go anywhere in this town, do anything in this town. He could walk into Dwyer's grocery and buy himself a sandwich; he could go to the surplus store on Pommel Avenue and get one of those fancy Sherman tank jackets; he could go to Brantford Music Supply and get some new guitar strings and cables. Hell, if he felt like it, he could find himself a drug dealer and get a small bag of marijuana in one of the back alleys on Shire Street.

Huh… The dope thing actually didn't sound like a bad idea to Billy. _Why the hell not?_

Briefly, he sniffed at the gray sweatshirt sleeve covering his right arm – and found that it smelled faintly of marijuana. He scowled; on second thought, no dope for him – not with the way his clothes smelled already. It wasn't noticeable _now,_ but one smoke and it would be – especially to his sister, and god knows if _she_ noticed, Billy was a dead man.

So, he wisely decided to hold off on the dope for the time being, and made his way over to Brantford Music Supply. It was a safe choice, one that his sister would approve of in a heartbeat. That, and Billy needed to pick up some new guitar strings, anyway.

He walked into the shop, and was immediately greeted by the soft, sweet keening of Led Zeppelin's _Thank You_ on the nearby turntable. Billy stiffened as he listened to the song play. This was one of Sarah's favorite songs – especially when she'd been dating him. It probably still was, but more than likely she was associating it with her and Alan's relationship now.

Great, Billy was in a bad mood all over again.

"C'mon, breathe," Billy murmured to himself. "Just get the strings and get outta here. Breathe, strings, leave. Go."

In stiff, robotic fashion, he scouted out the guitar strings, grabbed a pack, and headed up to the front counter to pay, jaw clenched and lips pursed iron-tight. Leave it to Led Zeppelin to remind him of how shitty his life had become.

As he was waiting for the cashier to ring his stuff up, Billy felt a tap on his shoulder. He craned his head back; behind him stood a girl with pale, freckled skin and nervous-looking hazel eyes. Her hair, a curly, wavy mess of light brown, peeked out from under the black hood of her jacket, messily woven into a single braid, and her small hands were balled in loose fists.

She swallowed, pursed her lips briefly before opening her mouth to speak. "Um, are you leaving, like, right after you pay?"

_What the hell_? "Yeeeaaahhh. Uh… Who the hell-"

"Can you do me a huge favor and walk me to my house – please? I really need to get outta here and I’m not comfortable walking by myself."

Billy was really weirded out, not to mention irritated. Who was this chick? And why was she asking him for a favor? Couldn't she see that he wasn't in the greatest of moods right now? _Obviously not, dickhead._

He sighed sharply. "Look lady, let's get something straight-"

"Oh Jesus Billy, there's nothing to get straight!" the girl hissed at him, her frustration near equal to his own. "There's someone stalking me!"

She knew his name. She knew his fucking name. Now he was really, really weirded out.

"Okay, STOP – who are you and how do you know my name?"

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest, popped a hip out to one side – the classic "Bitch please" stance that was all too familiar to Billy. It was a stance Sarah and his sister routinely used in his presence. _Oh boy._

_"_ You should know," she replied, face crunched up tight in annoyance. "You’ve known me since kindergarten."

Billy could barely remember what he had for breakfast that morning, much less some old kindergarten classmate. He stared at the girl's face for a moment. Nope – nothing but big, white blanks. _In that case, I'm calling bullshit_.

She opened her mouth to say more – then suddenly her eyes bulged and she dropped to the floor with a panicked gasp. "Oh fuck, there he is!"

Billy, not even sure where to begin with this girl, looked down at her, mouth in a firm frown. "There's something wrong with you," he told her with barely-concealed disdain. "I don't know you, I don't know what you're doing, and I don't know what you're so freaked out about-"

"Shut up! You'd be ducking down and freaking out if Chuck DeLayla was looking for you too, jackass!"

"Oh, bullshit hon-" Billy suddenly paused, allowed his brain to relay what the girl had just said. His brows furrowed in her direction. "Wait a sec – did you just say Chuck DeLayla was looking for you?"

"More like hunting me down, but yes, Chuck fucking DeLayla's looking for me!"

Ah. So that's why the girl was acting so finicky – Chuck DeLayla, self-proclaimed lothario of Brantford, was prowling the streets. Judging from the way she was acting, he must’ve zeroed in on her, and pretty hard at that. _Lucky you, eh?_

Well, that completely changed things now.

"Chuck DeLayla… I feel sorry for you now," Billy said with an ever-so-slight hint of amusement in his voice. "Whadja do to have the horny teen wonder stalking you?"

"Nothing! I talked to him, and now he seems to think I wanna do it with him! I DON'T!"

“Don’tcha know you don’t talk to him unless you’re looking to get laid?”

“Yeah, but… Oh Christ, I dunno! I was in the record store, and he was in there and he looked lonely, so I thought I’d be nice and talk to him, and it was great until he started smiling at me weirdly and saying we oughta’ go back to his house to talk more!”

Billy couldn't help but smirk. _Yep, that's DeLayla, all right._

"Will you stop smirking and help me?!" the girl squawked. "Like, NOW?"

Billy sighed. He seriously hoped he'd get some brownie points with the higher powers for what he was about to do.

"Christ – all right, fine, I'll help you out. Happy now?"

A huge, whooshing breath of relief left the girl at the sound of his words. "You're a lifesaver," she said to Billy gratefully. "Thank you, thank you-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, I get it. Thank me later." Billy briefly glanced over his shoulder; DeLayla was walking with a purpose, moving in fast on the storefront now. The girl wasn't kidding when she said he was hunting her down. Guess he'd better get to it.

"C'mon, gimme your hand and stick close to me. I wanna talk to him."

"Talk to him? I thought you said you were gonna help me!"

_Oh, for the love of Christ_ – "RELAX. I am. Just follow my lead and lemme handle this. 'Kay?"

Thank god, the girl finally stopped talking and nodded. So, without another word, Billy gripped her outstretched hand in his, pulled her to her feet – she was lighter than a paper bag, he noticed – and escorted her out of the shop just as DeLayla was making his way towards it.

Immediately, his eyes fell on the two coming out of the music shop. In typical DeLayla fashion, he slowly wet his lips, and sauntered towards the girl with a smug grin stretched across his face. "Sa _mantha_ ," he drawled, "there you are. I was lookin' all over town for you. I was hopin' I'd find you – I wanna get… 'better acquainted' with you."

Oh, man. DeLayla was in full-on pervert mode. This was bound to be interesting.

The girl – no, now her name was Samantha – groaned in exasperation. "Look, Chuck – I'm not interested! I'm sorry if I gave you mixed signals, but seriously, can you just leave me alone?"

"Aw, don't say that. I know you want to-"

"Asshole, she told you to leave her alone," Billy interrupted, his words accented with a slight growl. He inwardly smirked when DeLayla at last acknowledged his presence and his face immediately paled in fear. _Yeah, that's right, you'd better be scared._

Despite the fact that none other than Billy Jessup was standing in front of him, and despite having been told to back off, DeLayla stood his ground, managing to puff his chest out – please, you aren’t fooling anyone – and sneer at Billy. "This doesn't concern you-"

"Like hell, it doesn't concern me. She told you to leave her alone, so leave her alone."

Another chest puffing and a sneer. "What – she girlfriend or something, _Fuckup?_ "

Fuckup. Of all the things that idiot could've called him, he went with that? He should've known better. Fuckup was nothing more than a simple pet name to Billy. But, knowing Chuck DeLayla and based on the snide tone in his voice, he probably hadn't intended to use it as a pet name. In that case, Billy was ready with a pet name of his own – a damn good one, too.

"As a matter of fact, _DeLayless,_ " Billy started, biting back a triumphant grin when the other's face went cherry red at the derisive nickname, "she actually is my girlfriend." For added effect, he draped one arm across Samantha's shoulders, and dropped a quick peck on her mouth. He felt her stiffen in surprise at the kiss, but she managed to keep a straight face as she drew close to him, and put an arm around his waist.

And just like that, the charade did the trick. Suddenly, DeLayla looked stunned – no, horrified – at the possessive display of attraction in front of him. "You're Samantha's b-b-boyfriend?"

Holy shit. He'd bought it all, hook, line, and sinker. Billy might as well have owned Chuck at this point.

"That's right – I'm her boyfriend. So, unless you want me to beat the shit outta you, I'd scram and leave my girlfriend alone. I see you around her again, and you're dead. Got it?"

No words – only a nod from DeLayla.

"Beat it, DeLayless."

He'd hightailed it down the street before the last syllable had even left Billy's mouth.

He chuckled. "Too fuckin' easy," he said to himself. "Took off like a jackrabbit."

"I'll say. That was pretty spectacular, although you really should’ve warned me you gonna kiss me. I almost blew our cover.”

_The hell – oh_. That's right – Samantha was still here. Billy had almost forgotten that she was still standing beside him.

He chuckled again. “Had to sell it somehow, right?”

“Yeah… I guess so,” Samantha said, a small smile fleeting across her face before her gaze dropped shyly to the ground. Billy couldn’t help but quirk a smile of his own. The girl _was_ cute; he’d give her that.

"…Well?"

"Well _what?_ "

Samantha now looked up at Billy with one thin eyebrow quirked. "Aren't you going to walk me home?"

Crap. He'd forgotten he’d agreed to that.

_C'mon, you DID say you'd help her out. Do it for another TEN minutes and you'll be free._ "Yeah, I'll walk you home." He sighed after a brief moment of silence. "All right, where do you live?"

"Kramer Street. It's about a mile, mile and a half from here."

A lightning bolt tore down Billy's spine as the two began walking. Sarah lived on Kramer Street. Ah, shit – what if she knew Sarah?

He cleared his throat. "Uh… Any chance you know a girl named Sarah Whittle?"

Samantha nodded. "Yeah, she lives a few doors down from me."

"Oh." Billy was suddenly crossing his fingers that Sarah wouldn't be home when they passed by. He wasn’t in much of a mood to see or talk to her.

"Yeah…" Samantha looked up at Billy, grey eyes glinting expectantly in the afternoon light. "So lemme ask you something, Billy."

Billy shrugged. "Shoot."

"Do you remember a little girl with pigtails that you used to call Farm Girl?"

As a matter of fact, Billy did remember that little girl. Something or other Ryland… He couldn't remember her first name, but he _did_ know it started with an S. Sally – no… Not Sarah, he knew that… Sandra – nope… Sherry – definitely not that… Samantha – _a-ha!_ That was it – Samantha Ryland.

Then it hit him, and good god, he wanted to kick himself for taking so damn long to remember who she was. She was Samantha Ryland. She was that little girl in his kindergarten class that he used to tease all the time.

"Samantha Ryland. So you're that girl I used to give shit to all the time."

"Yep, that's me. By the way, the name's Sam now. No one calls me Samantha anymore except my parents."

_Well, hell if I knew that_ – "Oh. Okay."

They took a right onto a maple-lined road. As they walked on, Billy looked at Sam – _really_ looked at her. She'd gotten tall. She'd gotten _curvy_ – not too curvy, but enough for him to definitely notice things that hadn't been there before. She'd obviously ditched the pigtails, not that he minded. They made her look like some dumb country girl, anyway.

He chuckled. "You grew up," he said off-handedly.

"Well, no shit, Billy," Sam snorted. "Not like I was gonna stay little forever."

Looked like little Sammy Ryland had gotten a mouth to go with that growth spurt, too. She was a far cry from the awkward and shy little girl that Billy used to tease – a REALLY far cry. Christ, no wonder he hadn't recognized her.

Sam suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and Billy, too preoccupied with his thoughts, walked right into her.

"You know that whole ‘you really should’ve warned me before it happened’ crap you gave me, Ryland? That works both ways."

"Well, Jessup, if you didn't have your head up your ass, maybe you would've heard me say we're at my house now," Sam retorted with a roll of her eyes.

Holding back the urge to mimic what she'd said, Billy looked up at the house in front of him, a little white bungalow with a giant maple tree in the front yard, then at the houses flanking it. Sure enough, Sarah's house, in all its prim glory, was two to the right of Sam's.

He nodded. "Ah. Well, here we are, I guess."

"Mmm-hmm, here we are. Home sweet home." Sam slowly crossed the front yard to the front door, and pushed it open. Just before she stepped through, she turned around to look at Billy, and gave him a smile. "Thanks again for helping me, Billy. I'll see ya around."

Then, she disappeared into the house, the door shut, and Billy was alone once again.

_"I'll see you around."_ A small smile cracked across his face. She sounded so sure about it. Billy found it amusing, her confidence. He liked that.

Christ, was he getting soft? He sure hoped like hell he wasn't. He _couldn't._

Well, regardless it didn't matter much now – Billy was alone, Sam was home, and he was _free._ He could do whatever the hell he wanted now.

He tilted his head back, and looked at the sky, now a powdery, purply blue – an east-coast twilight sky, rapidly closing in on dark. It couldn't have gotten dark _that_ fast, could it?

Billy pushed a sleeve back to glance at the watch fastened around his wrist, and he swore when he read 4:23. Sonofabitch – _no,_ he couldn't do whatever the hell he wanted; unfortunately, Billy's sister was expecting him home in seven minutes, which meant he was gonna have to high-tail his ass across town if he wanted to avoid her wrath. _Goddamn it._

He rolled his other sleeve up, pulled some air into his lungs, and started running.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Billy had crossed town and reached his neighborhood, the sky had darkened to a blackish-blue color and the old street lamps had blazed to life, lighting the path to Billy's house - a path that, in order to stay in his sister's good graces, he was now sprinting down. He glanced down at his watch - 4:28, two minutes left until he'd be considered late. 

Billy snorted.  _Like hell._

He sucked some air into his lungs, rounded a corner on his left, and all but flew down the street. His house was now in sight, the porch lamp a small, flickering beacon in the darkness of the night. He pushed himself to go faster, and he cleared his front yard, just as his watch showed 4:30 - and just as his sister stepped outside. 

As he leaned against the porch railing to catch his breath, Billy grinned. "Hey Val," he greeted his sister tiredly.

Val raised an eyebrow. "Hey yourself, Billy," she replied. "You're home on time."

"Surprised?"

"Yeah, I am. Good thing you're here now - I was about to start screeching your name if you didn't show up in the next minute."

"Too bad I beat the clock."

"No, thank god you beat the clock. Sorry Billy, but there's nothing I hate more than having to bitch at the top of my lungs for you to get your dumb ass home."

"Fuck you, Val."

Val gasped, and pressed a hand over her heart in mock outrage. "Language, baby brother!" she chided. "You shouldn't be talking like that!"

"Says the girl who called me a dumbass!" 

Val smirked and clapped her brother on the shoulder. "It's done outta love, Billy. You know, a term of endearment."

"Yeah sis, I'm real convinced," Billy replied sarcastically.

"Baby."

"Bitch."

"Asshole!" 

"Skank!"

And so the banter and the name calling continued as the two moved inside and into the kitchen, the intensity rising and falling in strangely rhythmic cadence. As odd and as cruel as it could be, this was normal for the Jessup siblings, this bickering. Every night they'd go at each other, verbally sparring, attacking and defending with everything from silly childhood monikers to some of the foulest, most derogatory nicknames they could think of. They could poke fun at each other in one moment, and in another they could be downright  _mean_ to each other. 

But, there was never any true meaning, no intended bite to the vicious names and snipes. The two couldn't care less. It was all in good fun - twisted fun to others, yes, but fun nonetheless to them. It was done out of love, just like Val had said. It was one way she and Billy showed that they cared about each other. 

"So, what's for supper?" Billy asked during a lull in the bickering, taking a seat at the kitchen table as he did. 

"Beef stew." As Val ladled some into a chipped blue bowl, she glanced over her shoulder at her brother and smiled apologetically. "Fair warning - some of the beef chunks might be tough, and the spuds might be a bit undercooked."

"Is it gonna kill me?"

Val pointed the wooden spoon in her hand at Billy with a stern look on her face. "Be nice," she said before setting the bowl down in front of him. "I know I suck at cooking, but I don't suck  _that_ much."

"You sure about that, Betty Crocker?"

This time Val smacked Billy upside the head. "Just eat it already, jackass. It's not gonna kill you."

Ha. Billy would be the judge of that. Rolling his eyes, he spooned some stew into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Okay, so some of the meat was a  _little_ chewy, and some of the potatoes were crunchy and undercooked, but that aside it wasn't all that bad. Val was pretty hopeless in the kitchen and definitely had her bad days (Billy had long since lost count of how many of those days his sister had had in the kitchen), but she had her good days, too. Thankfully, today was one of those precious few good days. 

"It's all right," Billy said around a mouthful of stew. "Spuds are kinda' crunchy, but it's okay."

"How 'bout the beef?"

"Chewy."

"Damn it, again? I thought I cooked it all the way through this time... What the hell am I supposed to do?"

Billy shrugged. "I dunno, ask around or something. Don't you have girl friends for this kinda' stuff?"

Val opened her mouth to reply, but the sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut stopped her before she could say anything. Both she and Billy froze immediately, their eyes locking on each other's. 

Momentary silence filled the small house. Then...

"Valerie!" a scratchy voice called out. "I could use a drink!"

The two relaxed when they realized it was only their mother, back from a long day of work, and in need of libation - serious libation, too, from the sound of it. 

Val sighed. "Hang on a sec!" she yelled back before moving to the counter and grabbing a bottle of wine and a glass, and dashing over to the living room. "Does merlot work for you?"

"Please Val, that shit doesn't matter. Just give it to me already."

"Oh... Well, um, okay. I'll be in the kitchen with Billy. There's beef stew on the stove if you want some."

More dashing, and Val was back in the kitchen, carding her fingers through her long brown hair, a long sigh escaping on her breath. 

Billy knew that sigh, knew the look on her face. She was annoyed. Annoyance was a rare thing to see from her. He couldn't help but snort; it really took a special person to get his older sister all worked up in less than thirty seconds. 

He looked up from his empty bowl at Val. "How's she looking?" he asked her quietly. 

"Like hell. She's pretty fried." Val ran a hand over her face and groaned. "You know what that means."

"Another hard booze night."

"Another hard booze night," Val sighed. 

Billy scowled. "Fucking fourth time this week," he muttered. 

Val hummed but said nothing, choosing instead to glance over at the clock on the stove face. The moment she saw the time, though, she gasped and let loose a long string of panicky swears. 

"Uh... You okay, Val?" Billy asked, frowning at the sudden outburst. 

Val, who had now started wildly puttering about the kitchen and throwing items into an old brown satchel, shook her head. "I've got 10 minutes to get to the bar before my shift starts - and that's if we're operating on standard time and not Willard time."

"If you're operating on Willard time, then..."

"Then I've got 5 minutes to get there.  _Shit,_ Willard's gonna  _kill_ me if I show up late tonight!"

"Just tell him Linda was late coming home from work, and her car's the only one you got. He'll be fine with it."

"I've rolled that one out too much. He'll start thinking I'm trying to get outta work if I keep telling him that, and we can't afford to have me lose shifts this month." She flashed a small smile in his direction. "I appreciate you trying to help, though."

Val circled around the table one last time, pausing to kiss Billy on the forehead before running to the hall closet to grab a coat and a hat. "Mom, I'm heading to work now! Be back later! See ya, Billy!"

Then, Val slammed the front door shut behind her, and disappeared. The last thing Billy heard before everything went quiet again was the squeal of car tires and the family Pontiac peeling off into the night. 

Billy sighed, and propped his head up on the table. Great. Val was off to work, and he was alone in the house with only his mother - no doubt on her third glass of wine at this point - for company. Now what the fuck was he gonna do?

He wasn't going to sit around and twiddle his thumbs like an idiot. He  _absolutely_ wasn't about to attempt conversation with his mother, either. Really, his only remaining option now was to leave the house and screw around - go smoke, or hunt down a friend and hit up Manny's pool hall on Shire Street, or put the spurs to his motorcycle and go for a night ride, or  _anything._ At this point it didn't really matter, so long as he  _got the hell out of there._

Even though his mind hadn't been made up yet, Billy tossed his empty bowl in the sink, and headed to his bedroom to find a hoodie that didn't smell like dope and hard sweat. He figured he could take the motorcycle and ride around Brantford while he made his mind up. It sounded a lot better than staying at house and trying to figure that out. 

After finding and changing into another hoodie and grabbing the motorcycle keys off his dresser, Billy headed for the front door. "I'm going out, Linda," he mumbled to his mother. 

She didn't respond - just stared blankly at the TV and poured herself another full glass of wine. Billy growled. 

"Jesus fucking Christ - LINDA!"

 _Now_ Billy's mother acknowledged her son, whipping around in her seat to look at him with something close to a glare on her face. "What?" she snapped. "What is it? What the fuck do you want?"

"You fucking alcoholic, can't you tear yourself away from that shit for  _one_ second? I said I'm going out." 

Silence filled the room as mother and son glared at each other. Part of Billy wanted to keep saying things, wanted to rile her up, just to see what her reaction would be. Maybe she'd get angry at him and ground him for the night. Maybe she'd slap him. Maybe she'd do something to show that she actually gave a shit about what her son said and did to her. 

He kept his mouth shut though - and even if he hadn't she would've done none of those things, just like she always did.

"What the fuck are you telling me for, Billy? Just go! I don't give a shit what you do. Just... I dunno, don't get in trouble. Jesus  _Christ_..." She paused to throw back her current glass of wine before pouring herself another one, finishing off the bottle. 

Fuck it - Billy needed to get out of there  _now._

Without a word (he was past the point of even trying with her anymore), he ignored his mother, walked outside, slammed the door, and went around back to grab the motorcycle. 

The motorcycle in question happened to be an old Triumph Bonneville T120. Before Billy had inherited it, it had been his father's. It might've been a real thing of beauty 14 years ago, but 14 years later, with hardly anyone qualified enough to care for it, it had become real piece of junk. It had seen a LOT - from brutal New England winters to the hottest stroke-inducing days of summer, from absolute downpour thunderstorms to high-speed winds, from simple, small trips around Brantford to road trips to Cape Cod and Maine and Vermont to (dare Billy say it) the occasional cop dodge, the motorcycle had been through everything imaginable. 

That had been a long time ago, though. Since about 1964, the bike hadn't seen too much action; it had been sitting in the backyard with a tarp over it, waiting for someone to come along and ride it once more. 

Seven years later, that someone was Billy. When he first pulled the tarp off, the thing looked ready for the scrap pile. It was quite obvious that no one had taken care of it since his father had died in Vietnam, and there were more than a few indicators that it hadn't really been taken care of when his father was alive, either. It didn't deter him, though. With the help of a friend's uncle, Billy managed to polish it up and get it running again. It still had its kinks and issues, but it worked, and that was all that mattered to him. 

After pulling the tarp off, he wrapped his hands around the handlebars, and rocked the motorcycle out of its spot in the mud before bringing it around to the front. 

As he sat down, he glanced over his shoulder and looked through the front window. His mother was still sitting in front of the TV with her wine. That was all she cared about, her fucking booze. Billy shook his head, and started the bike. He really need to get out of here. 

As soon as the bike snarled to life, Billy put up the kickstand, and throttled off into the night. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so I feel like a jerk for taking so long to post this. Then again, life happened - I joined the Navy and went through boot camp at the beginning of this year, and since then I've been in A school out in California (yo girl's gonna be a Russian linguist!). Sadly, being in A school means I don't have a whole lot of time to work on fanfic. HOWEVER, I'm bound and determined to see this one through. I had a recent burst of inspiration for this and I'm dying to share it all with you guys. Hopefully things start coming a bit faster now that I'm in deep with this! :)

On the north side of town, there was a small house that sat among pine trees and scrubby forest foliage. In front of it was a winding dirt road that had been around for who knows how long, stretching and snaking on forever into the scarcely-explored woods of New Hampshire. With the exception of two other cabins on the other side of the road, the house had no company. 

In this house lived a tall, skinny 17-year-old boy with messy brown hair and brown eyes. His name was Holden Hauser, but most people in Brantford knew him as Jack. He was like any other boy his age: smart mouthed, foolish, and addicted to marijuana and all things rock n' roll. On Friday nights like tonight, he was usually holed up in his bedroom with his stash of dope, an old bass guitar, and his collection of vinyls, content to sit around and waste the hours away. Jack wasn't much of a social person; he didn't go out on the weekends like the other guys in Brantford. 

Unless, of course, someone like Billy Jessup showed up and decided to drag him off to have some fun - which tended to be often. 

Jack wasn't all that surprised when Billy let himself into his room at almost six in the evening. He also wasn't all that surprised when he told him - not asked, told him - about going to Manny's pool hall and spending some time there. Typical Billy, always trying to drag him out of the house. 

For a moment, Jack stayed where he was on his bed, puffing on the joint that seemed permanently stuck between his lips,  _bum-bum-bumming_ along to the Who's  _Pinball Wizard,_ thinking things over. 

Finally, he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I dunno, man. I'm kinda' outta cash right now..."

Billy scoffed. "That's gotta be the worst fuckin' excuse you've made yet, Jack. I  _know_ you got three hundred bucks stashed under your mattress right now." 

"How'd ya know about that?" 

"Seriously, I've known where you kept your lawn mowing money since we were ten. Who cares how I know though? You've got the cash, so grab some and let's go - we're heading to Manny's." 

"Can't a guy spend  _one_  fuckin'Friday night enjoyin' his dope?" Jack asked Billy irately before taking a drag on his joint. "C'mon man..."

Billy sighed, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This seemed to happen every time he tried to get Jack out of his house (not even his house, his goddamn  _room_ ) - all the bullshit excuses and whining in some sad attempt to get him off his ass. Honestly, he couldn't tell if it was the dope or Jack just being Jack, but regardless Billy found it annoying. 

" _All you do is enjoy your dope._ I mean, can't you spend one Friday night  _not_ enjoying it?"

Jack shrugged again and let his fingers wander along the neck of his bass absentmindedly. "I dunno - I guess. I mean, you run the risk of dealin' with me when I'm a keyed-up fuckin' sad-sack, but hey... If that's what you want..."

"So is that a yes or a no?" For his sake, Billy hoped it was a yes. Anything  _other_ than a yes and he might've been tempted to hit something. 

"Why the hell do ya even wanna go to Manny's, anyway? I thought that was a Saturday night thing..." Jack said as he set the bass down on his bed and tilted his head back to look at Billy, pausing when he saw the almost pained glint in his friend's eyes.

"Wait a sec... Your ma's hittin' the bottles, isn't she?" 

Billy was silent. Jack made a soft 'ah' of understanding. So that explained why he wanted to go to Manny's. Hell, it explained damn near every time Billy showed up at his house. 

 Jack Hauser and Billy Jessup had been best friends, practically brothers, since either one of them could remember. They'd been in the same classes since preschool; they shared the same interests; and they shared the same hatred for Alan Parrish and his better than everyone attitude. They'd rode their bikes up and down the streets as kids, chased after the pretty girls in Brantford, sat around and smoked dope and played their guitars - everything. They did everything together and knew everything about each other. 

So, it came as no surprise that Jack knew about Billy's messed-up home life. He knew that his mother was a raging alcoholic, that his father had been gone for nearly nine years, that his sister worked day and night to keep their family afloat. Jack knew all about it - he had practically the same life. His mother had abandoned him and his father when he was only two years old, and though he hadn't turned to alcohol for solace after it had happened, Jack's father was as detached from his son and reality as Billy's mother was. He understood his friend's pain; he knew what it was like to have no one give a shit about them, to wonder if there was any hope for the future, to wonder if they were ever going to escape or if they were going to rot in the same hole they'd grown up in. He understood it all. 

It was for this very reason that Jack, in the end, decided that his usual Friday night smoking routine could wait until tomorrow (or a couple of hours, at the very least), that he could dedicate some time to hanging out at the pool hall with Billy. It was the least he could do for him. 

"All right," he said with a resigned sigh, "we'll shoot some pool at Manny's. You better buy me a beer, though."

"No way, man. The last time I bought you beer you started acting stupid and almost got us kicked out. 'Sides, it's bad enough I have a drunk mom to deal with; the last thing I need to deal with is  _you_ when you're drunk." Billy propped himself up against the desk on the far wall, folded his arms in front of his chest, decided to change the subject. His mother was the last thing he wanted to talk about at the moment. "So where's your old man at these days?"

"Up in Maine, I think. Said he was goin' huntin' for the weekend with a buddy of his from his Navy days."

"And he didn't take you? Sucks."

Jack shrugged indifferently. "Ah, not like I really give a shit. I'm actually kinda' happy he left me here. I mean, I can do whatever I want. Plus," he continued, nodding to the now pitch-black forest outside his window, "all the good huntin's out here. I've gone huntin' up in Maine and there's shit up there."

"Probably looking in the wrong place then."

"Ah, fuck you. Like you'd know. Seriously, all the good huntin's in Brantford. Deer, moose, pheasant, quail... it's all here. I'm gonna have a fuckin'  _field day_ with my rifle tomorrow... A  _field day_..." 

He went on rambling for a good four minutes, but Billy did nothing to stop him. Jack had been an avid hunter for as long as Billy had known him, and his near constant chatter about game and rifles and compound bows and whatnot was all part of it. It had been annoying at first, but Billy eventually got used to it. He had to admit, Jack's obsession with hunting was better than the one he had with smoking dope. Well, tolerable, at least - and considerably more productive. 

"Ya know what, to hell with Manny's. Ya wanna go on a night hunt instead? I got another rifle you can use."

 _That's definitely the dope talking..._ "No way. We're going to Manny's. Save the hunting for when you can actually see shit-"

"But I  _can_ see shit!" Jack argued with a flail of his arms. 

Billy rolled his eyes. "You're  _stoned,_ idiot. Remember?"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you too. Now c'mon." He pushed himself away from the desk and extended a hand to him. "Who knows? You might even kick my ass at pool tonight."

* * *

There were three places in Brantford that people usually found themselves at on a Friday night like tonight. For the well-to-do teenagers, there was the Landmark Theater. For most teenagers, there was Axelrod's soda fountain on Pommel Avenue. 

For boys of a more delinquent nature, there was Manny's Pool Hall.  Occupying the spot of a former gas station, it was a dimly lit, smoke-filled hole in the wall, a ramshackle den of hedonism where the less well-behaved denizens of Brantford liked to hang out and a place that parents warned their children to stay far away from. It wasn't a pool hall so much as it was a bar with a couple of old tables near the back, but that didn't stop people from flocking to it on Friday night to shoot a couple games. Of course, it was also the only place within a 20-mile radius that had no discernible drinking policy. For many boys under the legal drinking age, it was a beer-laden dream come true. 

The place was already packed by the time Billy and Jack cruised in on the motorcycle and walked through the doors. The beer lights were blazing, casting golden light on the battered pool tables positioned below them. Cigarette smoke and the scent of spilled Schlitz curled and wafted throughout the building, and once one got past the near-constant buzz of people talking, the clacking of pool balls and Grand Funk Railroad streaming from the jukebox were the only sounds to be heard.

Despite the seemingly busy environment, Billy couldn't help but frown. "Wow. Place is kinda dead tonight."

"Yeah, that's 'cause everyone went to see _Westworld_ tonight," Jack said before nodding his head in the bar's direction. "C'mon Jessup, you still owe me that beer." 

"I told you man, not happening." 

Jack groaned and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' Christ Bill, I'm not your mom.  _One beer_ isn't gonna kill me or get me hammered." He started inching towards the bar, eyes trained on his friend standing sullenly in the doorway. "C'mon man, one beer. Ain't gonna stop askin' 'til I get one." 

"Fucking stubburn -  _fine._ One beer."  _Of all the nights to be a pain in my ass..._

With a scowl on his face, Billy pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, took out a dollar, and slapped it on the bar top. "One beer for the lady over here-"

"Ah, fuck you-"

"Fuck you too. Give him a Schlitz." He shook his head and rolled his eyes when Jack grinned and tipped the freshly-cracked can at him. "Happy now?" 

"Ah, quit bein' so cranky. Not like I asked you to buy me cigarettes while you were at it."

"Oh yeah, thank god for that," Billy replied sarcastically. "Just drink your beer so we can play some pool." 

Jack sighed but said nothing, choosing instead to take a long pull on his beer. Billy was being a right douche at the moment, but given the situation at home Jack could hardly blame him. Lord knows  _he'd_ be in a foul mood if his mom was drinking herself into a stupor. He could only hope though that humoring him and playing a couple rounds of pool would get him to calm down a bit. It was going to be a long night if he didn't. 

"You almost done with that?"

"Yeah, almost. Gimme a minute." 

"Just hurry up. I'm gonna go grab us a table. Get a couple of sticks when you're done."

Then, Billy was gone, ducking and weaving his way into the crowd before Jack had a chance to reply. He wasn't in much of a mood to explain that Jack's drinking was extremely off-putting to him at the moment. 

A few moments later, Jack joined him in the far back corner of the building with two pool cues in one hand, a bag of balls and a pyramid form in the other, and an unlit cigarette fastened between his lips. "Had to argue with the bartender to give us an actually nice set of balls this time," he said as he dropped the items on the table and lit up his cigarette. "It's missin' a six, but there's an extra two so we'll just treat it like a six." 

"Sounds good to me. Ready to get your ass kicked?"

Jack snorted as he set up the game. "Please.  _You_ kick  _my_ ass? Not in a million years." 

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Billy replied with a smirk before grabbing one of the pool cues off the table. "I'll break." 

"Be my guest." 

Billy smirked again, then positioned himself at one end of the table, lined his cue up with the cue ball, and broke the pyramid. From there, the game played out quickly, with Billy slowly and methodically knocking balls into the pockets while Jack stared on in dismay and watched his doom unfold. Needless to say, by the time Billy finally knocked the eight ball into the bottom left pocket, Jack was looking rather peeved. 

Of course, Billy could only smile sweetly at him as he reset the table for another round. "You were saying about you kicking my ass?" 

"Just shut up and reset the balls," Jack grumbled. 

Billy laughed. It was too easy to rile him up sometimes. 

Once the balls had been reset, the game started again. This time, it was Jack who went first, breaking the pyramid with a loud  _clack._ He smirked as he set his sights on the nine ball, hovering near the center left pocket, and lined his cue up with it. "Ya know, even though I'm still pissed at you for that first round of pool, I'm actually havin' a good time right now," he said before taking his shot and sinking his target. "Shit was  _real_ borin' before you dragged me outta the house." 

"Glad to hear, my friend."

Truth be told, it had been a fairly run-of-the-mill, boring Friday for Billy, too. Well, at least until that run-in with Sam and Chuck DeLayla. 

Maybe that was why he brought it up as he and Jack played through the game. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it (or, more accurately, hadn't been able to stop thinking about her) since it happened. 

"You remember a girl named Sam Ryland?"

Jack, more focused on hitting the four ball he was aiming at, didn't answer. Billy sighed. 

"Jack, didja hear me?"

"Nope," he said before jabbing at the cue ball. It smacked into the four, and promptly dropped into the top right pocket, an easy point for Jack. "Was too focused on kickin' your ass. Whadja say?"

"I asked if you remembered a girl named Sam Ryland."

Jack's forehead crinkled as he set his sights on the nearby six. "Sam Ryland... Kinda' short, brown hair, awkward, lives down the street from your ex?" 

Even though the ex-girlfriend bit wasn't necessary, Billy nodded. That merited a loud snort from Jack. 

"Yeah, hardly." He struck the cue ball, but missed his target by a long shot. "Why? You screw her or something?"

"Asshole. You really think I do that shit with  _every_ girl I come in contact with?"

"Uh,  _yeah._ As far as I know, you've been doin' that ever since Sarah ran off and you screwed Trisha McCleary in a cabin at Surry Mountain Lake. Speakin' of Trisha McCleary, whatever happened to her? That girl was hot, and I mean  _smokin'._ I'm surprised you weren't doing her on a regular basis."

Billy shook his head, amazed at how far up his ass Jack's head was - and just a bit repulsed at the recent train of conversation. While he'd admit he'd gotten physical with two or three girls here and there, he wasn't doing it enough to be the village bicycle that Jack was making him out to be. 

"Heard she moved out west - Ohio or Kentucky, something like that." Truth be told, Billy had no idea where Trisha McCleary had disappeared to, nor did he really care. She'd turned out to be more trouble than Billy had been interested in dealing with. 

"Oh."

"Yeah. Now move outta the way and lemme take a shot."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, in a sec." He paused, pulled his pack of Salems out of his hoodie pocket and lit up a second cigarette before continuing. "You still need to tell me what Farm Girl Ryland has to do with anything."

"Nothing, really. I just ran into her earlier today, that's all."

"You 'ran into her'?"

"Well, more like she ran into me. Chuck DeLayla was on her ass and she needed a hand getting rid of him."

"So whadja do?"

Billy shrugged. "Pretended we were dating, gave her a little kiss. Worked like a charm." He found himself chuckling at the memory of the moment. "You shoulda seen the look on DeLayla's face when that happened. Looked like he was gonna shit his pants when I rolled that one out."

For that, he earned a loud guffaw and a heavy clap on the shoulder from Jack. "You, my friend," he declared, "are the coolest."

"Glad you think so. Now step aside and lemme show you how you actually play pool." 

* * *

 The two of them continued playing well into the night, stopping only when they were among the last ten people left in the building. With nothing left to do there, they headed out on Billy's motorcycle and cruised idly around downtown, unwilling to go home, but unsure of where to go.

Eventually, they found themselves at the Brantford River, sitting on the stone bridge spanning it with their legs dangling over the edge. Were it not for the fact that Billy couldn't stand alcohol of any kind, they probably would've been splitting a six-pack of beer like most boys their age were wont to do. As it were though, he hated it, and so they sat in darkness, watching the water flowing below them. 

Jack snorted as he pulled out his Salems. "Real excitin' shit ya got planned for us, Bill." 

Billy watched his friend light up a cigarette, shrugged. "Dunno, man - didn't feel like raisin' a whole lotta hell tonight," he said. "You mind if I bum one off ya?"

"Sure." He extended the pack to Billy, who pulled one out, pursed it between his lips, and lit it up, exhaling a long wisp of smoke before relegating it to his hand. "Sorry it's not Marlborough."

Billy shrugged again. A cigarette was a cigarette. Brands didn't really matter much to him. They were all the same in the end. 

As silence fell over the two of them, Billy found himself looking up, gaze shifting from star to star as his mind wandered. How different life up there must've been. Hell, how different it must've been  _anywhere_ outside of Brantford. The universe wasn't beholden to the rules of the town, the life he'd been born into.  _He_ was though, and oh, how he hated it. He would've given anything for his life to be different. He would've given anything for something to come and just flip the whole world on its ass, because he was getting right tired of the shit he was stuck in. 

He took a long drag on his cigarette, exhaled slowly and watched the smoke curl and twist in the air. "You ever wish your life was different?" he asked quietly. 

 "All the time. Why?" 

Billy sighed, took another drag on his cigarette. "You know why, Jack." He paused for a moment, stared into the darkness. "I just wish it was different. I'm tired of the one I have."

"Yeah, be careful what ya wish for, bud. Might actually get whatcha want." 

Billy snorted. Yeah, right. Knowing his luck, it would take nothing short of a miracle for him to actually get what he wanted. 

They lingered on the bridge for a few minutes longer, then finally decided to call it a night. The ride back to Jack's house was a silent one, with each one tired and lost in his own thoughts. Their parting wasn't much better; they both made a quiet promise to meet up sometime tomorrow and hang out, but otherwise there wasn't much said. They merely waved, and then turned and disappeared from each other's line of sight. 

After Jack had vanished into the darkness of his house and the door had closed behind him, Billy turned his gaze towards the sky, his mind drifting. One change. That was all he wanted. Big, small, good, bad, it didn't really matter to him at this point - just so long as  _something_ happened. 

With a sigh, he packed away his thoughts, climbed on his motorcycle, and headed back home. 

If only things could be different. 


End file.
